


It's a Long Way Forward

by fraxiinus



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Abuse, mentions of physical trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 14:54:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8849320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fraxiinus/pseuds/fraxiinus
Summary: Credence swore he could hear the ticking of the clock in his bedroom all the way across the apartment, for how silent everything was in the breaths between Percival’s words.“What does that say about me?” Percival asked then, voice barely above a whisper.(In which Grindelwald leaves Graves with scars much deeper than anyone else can see, and Credence is more observant than anyone gives him credit for.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Well i've fallen into this pit and i'm not getting out anytime soon. Inspired by [this gifset](http://fraxinus.tumblr.com/post/154473261807/halbarryislife-i-just-want-graves-to-be-alive) and [this art](http://hikaridraws.tumblr.com/post/154387938442/invenire-to-find) by hikaridraws which gave me my headcanon for how Grindelwald kept Graves from escaping all that time. Thanks to shikarius for the beta, and come [find me on tumblr](http://fraxinus.tumblr.com/) after you're done!

Percival sat on the edge of his couch, gazing out his window at the light fading from the Manhattan skyline. He had one leg crossed over the other, his bad hand resting in his lap as usual, elbow propped up on the arm of the couch while the fingers of his other hand hovered over his lips. Percival seemed to have not noticed Credence standing just outside the room, watching him, having woken from the afternoon nap he succumbed to after their daily magic lesson. 

In the few months since Credence had come to stay with Percival he had seen this look before, but only in the rare, quiet moments that Percival believed no one to be looking at him. It was pensive, lost in thought, his normally so present and in-the-moment demeanor replaced with something far-off and distant. To Credence, who had learned to read Percival’s particularly expressive face so quickly (there were so many emotions so readily available, he had taken each in like a gift), it had always been troubling to see.

Diving into the small cache of courage he had been building since Percival took him in, Credence decided today was the day he would return the auror’s kindness.

He walked forward into the living room, catching Percival’s attention as soon as he stepped out from the shadowed doorframe. Percival uncrossed his legs and his face immediately shifted into the easy, soft look that Credence had begun to suspect may only be for him. “Credence, I didn’t realize you had woken up. Are you hungry?”

Credence was, in fact, incredibly hungry, but instead of answering he briskly walked over to the couch and sat down next to Percival, closer than usual, and turned so that he could look directly at the older man. Their knees were just shy of brushing but Credence pushed down his small thrill at the connection. Percival seemed surprised, his eyebrows slightly raised, but he didn’t move away and that was all the reassurance Credence needed to start speaking.

“No, I wanted to talk with you. I-“ he paused abruptly, swallowing down the unfamiliar taste of his own boldness to steady his voice, “I want to talk with you.”

Percival seemed concerned then, and reached out to gingerly place his hand on Credence’s knee. “You know you can talk to me about anything. What’s bothering you?” His words were marinated in the understanding tones that still had Credence wondering if Percival had magic even in his voice, for how it warmed him from his head to his toes; he only kept from melting into the couch by reminding himself why he had begun speaking in the first place.

“N-no, sir! I mean, nothing. It’s not what’s bothering _me_ ,” Credence had been staring at Percival’s hand, their point of contact, but hazarded a glance up to be met with a puzzled look. “It’s _you_. That is, sorry, I can see that something is bothering _you_ , a-and I want to help with it. You’ve helped me so much…”

Percival drew back his hand, leaving a stinging absence of warmth in its place, and a small amount of panic started to creep its way into Credence’s throat, but the other man just gave a placating smile. “Me? No, no, there’s no need to worry about me. I’m an auror-- I've been through worse, and will probably be through worse again before my time is up. Believe me on that.”

“But-“ Credence leaned forward to protest, only to be silenced by a raise of Percival’s hand.

“I’m fine, Credence, really. Now, are you sure you aren’t hungry? I am. It’s been a number of hours since we’ve eaten and I’m sure the pastries we had for lunch haven’t lasted you this long, either.” Percival started to rise up out of his seat and Credence felt his control of the situation slipping, his hands set to shaking. This was not how this conversation was supposed to happen; he was hurting and Credence desperately wanted to _help_ -

“ _Percival_ ,” Credence blurted, urgent, and that finally gave the auror pause.

He had asked Credence after a month of living together to stop calling him Mr. Graves, that he may be older but Credence was an adult as well, but old habits died hard and it was still rare for Credence to refer to him by his first name as opposed to “sir” on the occasion he need use it. Sensing Credence’s seriousness (and probably seeing the mild panic in his eyes) Percival slowly lowered himself back down the few inches he had risen from his seat. His attention was all on Credence then, and while Credence’s instincts screamed to shy away from the piercing contact of the older man’s eyes, to curl in on himself and shrink away for somehow speaking out of turn, he fought down the urge. Percival ( _this_ Percival) would never hurt him. He knew that. It was that confidence that allowed him to draw a deep breath and speak again.

“You can…you can talk to me, about things, you know. I promise I can handle them, and I want so badly to help, and I see you when you’re sad when you don’t think anyone is looking and you’ve done so _much_ for me and-“ he paused and took a deep breath to steady his voice, which had begun to rise in pitch. He needed Percival to know he could do this for him, that he could handle whatever was bothering him, without a doubt. “You can tell me what’s wrong.”

There was silence. It stretched between them and through the apartment but it wasn’t uncomfortable, like how Credence thought it might be. Percival’s gaze seemed far away, his jaw clenched and unclenched, which Credence knew to mean he was thinking very deliberately about what he was going to say. It was the face he had often made in the first few weeks Credence lived with him, when he was more fragile, cowering from the wrong words, and Percival had to think carefully about his approach.

“You’re a very perceptive young man, Credence,” he finally said, looking down at his hands that rested between his splayed legs, palms up. Both were bandaged and showed the marks of still-fresh scars. The right, his dominant hand (his wand hand), still had splints on three of the fingers; they had been impossibly worse when Credence had found him, starving and locked away in a cellar in Queens. Grindelwald had broken them to keep him from escaping with any wandless magic he might have been able to manage-- so badly that even the most experienced healers were initially unsure how long it would take to put them back together properly. It had been two months since then, and they expected he wouldn’t be fully recovered for another month more. Percival had been distraught when he was told. Months for an injury like that was apparently unheard of, in a world where magic could close cuts without a single stitch or heal welts like they had never been there.

Credence let the silence stretch, remembering how patient Percival was with him when he had trouble finding the words to voice exactly what he had been through-- what Ma had done to him. It had been such a blessing, and if Percival was willing to talk to him, Credence knew he could be as patient as a saint.

Finally, the silence was broken.

“I always wanted to be an auror. Since I was in school. My record was fantastic aside from the near-constant fights I would end up in.” Percival spoke in measured tones, as if he was digging each sentence up from where he had carefully laid his past to rest decades ago, the slow process affecting his usual elocution. “My professors were frustrated by it, especially because they were almost never my own battles, but they always told me that I would make a good auror for it someday. I wanted to be the tool of justice that helped the people who needed it. I didn’t have many friends.” 

Credence sat, quietly enraptured. He knew some things about Percival, that he was born in New York and came back when he was done with school, that he had been with MACUSA for almost 20 years, but he knew so little about the man that Percival actually was. He had gotten the sense that speaking about himself was something Percival didn’t make a habit of doing often, and Credence had never wanted to press.

“I’ve never been much of a people person. Always too focused on the task at hand. I knew that I was doing good, and that was all that mattered to me-- not who I said hello to in passing on the street, or who I got drinks with at the end of the day. My colleagues sometimes joked I was made of the same stone as the walls of my office, but it was just what I had to be to get to where I was. I never minded it. I never thought-“ Percival cut off there, dipping his head low over his lap. 

Credence had never seen Percival lost for words. He assumed he had an endless supply of them.

When Percival looked forward again, just enough so that Credence could make out the lines of his face-- the hurt of his eyes, the unmistakable worry of his brow-- his voice was softer, and dripped with uncertainty. “A crazed mass murderer found me, locked me away, stole my face, my wand, my job, and my identity. He replaced me, completely, for almost a year. And _not one person I knew noticed._ ” 

Credence swore he could hear the ticking of the clock in his bedroom all the way across the apartment, for how silent everything was in the breaths between Percival’s words.

“What does that say about me?” Percival asked then, voice barely above a whisper.

With only a second of thought, Credence reached out and gently guided Percival’s bad hand into his own lap, laying one of his own hands underneath it while the other rested gingerly on top. He let his his fingers gently trace the lines of bandages spanning his palm. Credence remembered, vividly, how the false Percival had made the cuts on his hands disappear through magic. Credence wished he knew enough to do the same for this Percival now, but he wouldn’t have the power even if he did. His words, shaky as they were, would have to suffice.

“I think…I think if I had known you before Grin- before _he_ took you. I think- no. I know. I _know_ I would have noticed.” Credence imagined each little scar poking out from the bandages disappearing as his delicate fingers traced over them, the bandages unwrapping and the bones beneath mending back together. He imagined how they would feel then, gentle as always, perhaps softer. “You’re _nothing_ like him.”

The image of healing Percival with his own two hands made Credence’s chest swell with confidence when he looked up again, but that confidence wavered when he met Percival’s eyes.

The look that Percival was giving him, disbelieving, a little surprised, a faint hint just under the surface of something that could have potentially been wonder, confused him. It was as if Credence had appeared in front of him out of thin air, but that couldn’t be right because Percival could do that himself. Yet there he sat, looking at Credence as if he was some kind of new, unfamiliar magic that appeared from nothing to sit next to him and hold his hand.

Credence felt his face heating up and was sure his cheeks and ears were turning pink when Percival finally smiled at him. His eyes were openly fond in a way that made Credence feel like his heart would burst out of his chest for how fast it was thrumming and how very suddenly warm he was all over. He let Percival lift his hand, too flustered to stop it, especially when that hand immediately rose to nudge a strand of Credence’s now-inch-longer hair behind his ear before moving to stroke his cheek.

“Thank you, Credence,” Percival said, his voice easy and lighter than it had been a moment before. “I think that was exactly what I needed to hear.”

The feeling that those words gave him was by far the best Credence had ever felt. He felt like he could stand on top of the world, like he could be huge enough to encompass all of New York, and for the first time in his life that feeling wasn’t scary, or dark, or clawing inside of him. Instead it was soft, like the brush of Percival’s knee to his own, and warm, like the brush of Percival’s fingers against the small stubble of his cheek. Credence closed his eyes to the sensation, happier than he could ever remember being.

“ _Are_ you hungry, though?” Percival asked, breaking the silence only a second before Credence’s stomach could rumble loudly through the living room.

Credence opened his eyes and smiled. “Ravenous.”


End file.
